70. Chapter 70
John
Lightning flashed again, closer this time.
In the brief burst of white, I saw him.
Trevor.
He stepped around into my line of sight as the darkness returned, like he’d been waiting for the right dramatic moment to reveal himself.
For a second, relief flooded me.
Trevor.
Someone I knew.
Someone rational.
“This isn’t funny,” I said again, more breath than voice. “Untie me.”
He didn’t smile.
That was the first thing that felt wrong.
“You figured it out,” he said quietly.
My heart stumbled.
“Trevor, if this is some kind of…”
He punched me.
Hard.
My head snapped sideways. Pain detonated along my jaw. I tasted blood immediately.
“What the hell?” I choked.
He stood over me, breathing hard through his nose, hands flexing at his sides like he was trying to keep them steady.
“You took her,” he said.
The words didn’t make sense at first.
“What?”
“She said she loved me first.” His voice rose slightly. Not shouting. Worse - offended. “Before you.”
“That was a mistake,” I said quickly. “You know that. She told you that.”
His eyes darkened.
“She was confused.”
“No,” I said. “She wasn’t.”
Another flash of lightning lit the room. For a split second, I saw something in his expression I’d never noticed before.
Not anger.
Possession.
A phone started ringing.
The sound was sharp in the quiet house, echoing off the walls.
My pulse spiked.
Cate.
The ringing cut off with a click as he lifted the phone from his pocket and answered casually, like it was nothing more than an interruption.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“What do you mean, missing?”
My stomach dropped.
They were talking about me.
“She didn’t call me,” he continued smoothly. “No, I haven’t seen him.”
I sucked in a breath and shouted.
“Help! I’m down here…”
His hand clamped over my mouth before I finished. Something rough was shoved between my teeth. Tape tore loudly and sealed it in place.
I thrashed. The chair rocked.
He stepped back just as I tipped backward and crashed to the floor.
Pain shot up my spine.
I kept rocking. If I could break the chair…
Footsteps approached.
Something heavy struck the back of my head and everything went dark.
I blinked my eyes open, a thin line of daylight filtered through the blinds. The rain had stopped.
My face felt twice its size. Blood had dried stiff against my shirt. My head throbbed in dull, rhythmic waves.
I tested the rope that held me.
Still tight.
I forced myself to breathe slowly. Think.
There was a wet bar just a few feet away.
If only I could get a knife.
I rocked the chair carefully this time, inching backward. Every scrape of wood against concrete felt loud enough to echo through the house.
No footsteps.
No voices.
When the chair bumped the bar, I leaned as far as my restraints allowed and caught a glimpse of a small knife. I used my face to pull it to the edge, then gripped the blade with my teeth.
I dropped it into my lap.
Worked it into my fingers, and cut…
The rope resisted at first, then gave.
One wrist came free, then the other. I released my legs, and when I stood, I nearly blacked out again.
I grabbed the counter until the room steadied.
I took stock of my surroundings - there was no door to the outside in the basement.
Only stairs.
I picked up a hockey stick from the wall without thinking, needing something solid in my hands.
The stairs creaked softly under my weight as I climbed.
The door at the top was closed.
Please don’t be locked.
Of course it was… I slid the knife into the frame and twisted until I heard a faint click.
The knob turned.
I pushed the door open slowly.
The kitchen was empty.
I moved as fast as I was able through the kitchen, then the living room, carefully scanning corners, doorways, shadows…
The front door was five steps away.
Five.
I unhooked the chain.
Unlocked the deadbolt.
Wrapped my hand around the knob.
Click.
“Going somewhere?”
My breath caught and I closed my eyes. I turned slowly.
A man sat on the couch, gun pointed directly at my chest. A long scar ran down the side of his face.
I raised my hands. How did I miss him?
“Let’s talk,” I said carefully.
“Drop the knife.”
I did.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tried. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”
He laughed once.
“You don’t have what he has.”
I lunged.
The gun fired.
The shot tore past my ear.
We crashed through the coffee table. Wood splintered beneath us. I hit him as hard as I could. Blood sprayed from his nose. The gun skidded across the floor.
I grabbed it first.
My hands shook violently as I aimed it at him.
He scrambled backward, slipping on broken wood.
Then the front door burst open, and Trevor stepped inside.
He closed it.
Locked it.
The picture of calm.
He took in the scene like it was mildly inconvenient.
“Shoot him,” the scarred man shouted.
Trevor reached behind his back and drew his own gun.
Pointed it at me.
“Drop it,” he said quietly. “And I won’t kill you.”
I kept mine trained on him.
“Drop yours first.”
He gave me a small, almost amused look.
“You’ve never fired one,” he said. “Have you?”
I didn’t answer.
“This isn’t about you,” he continued conversationally. “It’s about her.”
My grip tightened.
“You touch her…”
“You’re already gone,” he said.
And he pulled the trigger.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs.
Heat exploded through my stomach.
The gun fell from my hands.
I hit the floor.
The pain was blinding for a moment, then strangely distant, like my body was already retreating.
I saw a phone on the side table.
If I could just…
I crawled, each movement left a smear of red behind me.
My fingers wrapped around the receiver.
Pressed nine.
Trevor kicked it away.
The receiver clattered across the hardwood.
He stood over me.
Disappointed.
“You should have let her go,” he said.
Blood filled my mouth.
I tried to say her name.
“Cate…”
He crouched beside me.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said softly.
The ceiling blurred.
The edges of the room dimmed.
The last thing I saw was Trevor’s face above me - steady, composed.
Like this had always been the plan.